


Hamilsquad: Senior Year

by thedevil_andgod



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Gen, Hamilsquad, High School AU, M/M, Multi, Poly Squad, Polyamory, Reader Insert, Theatre Kid! Reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-08 20:29:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8859904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevil_andgod/pseuds/thedevil_andgod
Summary: Senior year can be stressful under normal circumstances. But when Reader's life is turned upside down, can she hold it all together? Or will tentative new friendships prove too much?





	1. if you want to cut me open

**Author's Note:**

> *AN:So, I have not seen the show, sadly. I live in Ireland, and the show has not come here. It's scheduled to appear on the West end next November so I'll be ready to steal, borrow or barter [;)] money, or my soul, for tickets. 
> 
> Anyways. Apologies if anyone is OOC here - again, I'm going off the soundtrack. I haven't much knowledge of how the US schooling system works, so if anything's inaccurate please let me know. This is set in senior year, basically Hamilsquad are the douchebag populars of the school (but they're not rlly, they're acc vv sweet). I'm toying with the idea of an Angelica/Reader relationship too, but may leave that alone. We'll see how this goes. 
> 
> *AN2: can't think of a good title rn. chapter title from tears by clean bandit & louisana johnson. 
> 
> *AN3: The book talked about in their English class is one of my favorites and I recommend it fully!!

'Dean, get off my goddamn knee.'   
'Don't be so mean!'   
'You are heavy!'   
'Rude!'

I train to throw the maddeningly warm lump that is my best friend off my lap. He clings to me, knocking my balance and sending us both crashing onto the unforgiving floor.

'Oof!' Dean groans - but I'm the one who's taken the brunt of the fall. Winded, I heave a breath and jerk my knee, which collides with the small of Dean's back. He yelps, indignantly, rolling off.

Sitting up, I scowl his direction, and a pout is the reply.

'If you two are finished mucking about!' Calls Greg, our show director. 'It was him!' You jerk your head in his direction before standing, brushing yourself off.

'I want a run through of Fight Song again.'   
'I know, I know. I'm ready.'

Greg grins up at me. 'Aren't you always?'   
Dean positions himself on the far right of the stage (well, my right; the audience's left) and waits for the music to begin. I crouch to the floor, one hand pressing flat to the ground. I close my eyes settling back into character, feel the weight of the choice in front of me.

The first chord strikes out, and Dean begins to sing, his voice deep and soulful.

_'Stop what you're doing now. I know you're hurting now. You don't have to do this, oh no..'_

The pace picks up and my part begins. The dance routine for this one is difficult. Dancing is my weakest performance point, and though the moves are few, they're quite complex, meant to symbolise the internal conflict my character faces in that moment.

By the end, my face is flushed and my chest heaves. Both me and Dean stay in the finishing positions until Greg claps a few times. 'Good! Good.' Falling back into a natural stance, Dean heads my way, gives me a light slap on the shoulder. 'That was incredible.'

I can't help but agree. Adrenaline surging through my veins, it's like I'm floating - I cannot get enough of the rush of performing. 'Your voice suits the song so well!' He blushes and ducks his head. 'Shut up.' He says playfully.

The bell signalling the end of first period rings out. Greg glances up from his notes; 'You guys should get going. See you both at four o'clock - sharp!'   
Nodding, we both grab our backpacks and begin to make our way to the next class. 'What have you got now?'

I run through my schedule in my head. 'Uhh.. it's Tuesday, right? English.'   
'Ohh. Mr. Hiddleston.' Dean smirks, raising his eyebrows at me. I giggle, Hiddleston is my favourite teacher in the school. As well as being kind and intelligent, he's also exceedingly handsome, with a smile that could make all your troubles melt away in a second.

'I have bio.' Dean winces. 'Catch you in history?' We part ways, and I enter the English room. Mr. Hiddleston smiles my way, and I return it with ease. By the time I reach my desk, however, the smile has faded - there's only one thing I hate about this class, my seating partner.

Lafayette is leaning back in his chair, talking to Laurens and Mulligan, the three of them laughing boisterously. I slide into the seat, leaning to the side and away from them all, as far as possible.

All three are friends with the school's most popular boy - Alexander Hamilton. Even his name starts my blood boiling. Their 'squad' consists of Alexander himself, sports star Hercules Mulligan (and really, who names their child Hercules?) playboy Lafayette (who's full name I have never once heard uttered by anybody) and then John Laurens, who was the star of the wrestling team and, out of them all, was the most tolerable.

As well as the four boys, the two eldest Schuyler sisters were frequently in their company. Eliza and Angelica. Eliza isn't too bad, considering she's usually the one trying to calm them all when they get too loud. But Angelica... she is basically the female version of Alexander. Both seeming to believe they can get whatever they want with just a smile; Angelica's father is loaded, so it's pretty true on her part. While Alexander isn't exactly swimming in money, he does swim in charisma and charm, which works on the teachers and the majority of the students. I, personally, find him obnoxious and irritating, and that's just him by himself. When the others are with him, they become a walking hurricane of lewd jokes, play fights, and calling others out trying to start real fights. I wish I could avoid them entirely, but no. Luck is not on my side this year, it seems. At least it's senior year. And, if Saturday goes well...

Lafayette drags me from my thoughts as he leans forwards, front legs of his chair slamming back onto the ground. Hiddleston glances our way and Lafayette shoots him an apologetic smile. He turns to me. 'And how is the lovely (Y/N) today?'

'Not in the mood to deal with you.' I say back, coolly. He puts on a sad face, dark eyes wide - he is so used to women falling at his feet. I ignore him, opening my notebook and scanning over the notes from yesterday. We have a pop quiz on our novel coming up, and I reckon I'm good for it. But a little extra revision never hurt anybody.

'Now class.' Hiddleston stands and begins writing on the whiteboard.

**Relationships in How Many Miles to Babylon.**

'Can anyone tell me - off their heads - the important relationships in the novel we have been studying?'

'The relationship between Alec and his mother.' Calls out Aaron Burr, a quiet boy who keeps to himself most of the time. Hiddleston nods. 'Yes, the relationship between Alec and his parents is important because...?' He asks the rest of us.

Laurens' puts his hand up, and Hiddleston nods to him. 'Because they were the only two people he had contact with growing up. The way they treated him formed his social abilities.'

'Very good. Other relationships?'   
'Between Alec and the Major, when he goes to war.' Burr speaks up again.

'Which is important because...' Hiddleston looks to Laurens again, who grins. 'Because the divide between the social classes and people's opinion on that divide is showcased by how the Major treats the front-line soldiers. He believes himself above them, and dislikes Alec because he doesn't share that belief.'

'And the most obvious relationship...'

'Alec and Jerry.' I say, and Hiddleston smiles at me. 'Yes, Miss (Y/L/N). We have touched on their friendship lightly, now it is time to delve deeper into the complexities.' Standing from his desk, he walks around it and picks up a marker.

'Jerry/Alec' he writes in block letters. 'When we are first introduced to Jerry, we know his character is important because he is the first person of Alec's own age he becomes acquainted with. The two boys quickly develop a friendship, which they keep hidden from Alec's parents because of the differences in their social standing.'

Hiddleston continues on describing their relationship, the strength of their bond, and then asks us all to do something.

'I want you to put your hands up if you believe the relationship between Alec and Jerry would, if set in modern times, would have progressed on to something more than platonic?'

I glance around, surprised to find I am the only one who's hand is not in the air. Hiddleston notices this too; 'You don't believe so?'   
Everyone turns to me, and I shake my head.

'But it is so obvious that they're in love.' Someone says from the back, and Hiddleston asks if anyone wants to share why they think the two boys had feeling for each other.

'They look at each other naked when they first go swimming.'   
Hiddleston asks if I could refute the statement; 'Childhood curiosity.' Lafayette rolls his eyes, which pushes me to continue my thoughts.

'We have to remember, Alec has never once received any form of physical affection from anybody. He has no friends, due to his isolated upbringing, and Jerry is the only person who he is close to. Maybe the subtext is meant to be homoerotic, but there's definitely an argument there for it simply being two lonely boys, who find refuge in each other's company.'

Hiddleston takes this in. 'That's a very good take on it, Miss (Y/L/N). Well done for thinking about it.' I smile, suddenly a little embarrassed from my word vomit.

Hiddleston begins to speak about the other relationships in the novel. Beside me, I can feel Lafayette's eyes burning into the side of my head. Rather than giving him a reaction, I listen to the teacher - until a hand from behind taps my at my shoulder. I turn, and Laurens' is leaning over his desk with a soft smile on his face. 'That was really clever. It's an interesting perspective.' I whisper a thanks and turn away again. Like I said, Laurens' is the most tolerable. He's actually quite sweet - and how he ended up in the same crowd as the others, I'll never know.

As the bell rings to signal the end of class, Mr. Hiddleston announces the pop quiz will take place on Friday. A resounding groan fills the room and Hiddleston just smiles. As I pass him on his way out, he looks up. 'Good work today (Y/N), John, Aaron.' Laurens and Burr are behind me - then Lafayette hops onto Laurens' back. 'Who's a clever boy!' He whoops loudly and Laurens' rushes them both from the room, the two of them laughing. A clatter tells me they hit something and most likely fell over - idiots. Burr rolls his eyes and I grin, hooking my arm through his. 'C'mon Burr. Walk me to history.'

He complains even as he does what I ask. 'My class is on the other side of the campus, (Y/N).'   
'I know. But you love me.' I say sweetly, leaning into him. He huffs; but there's a warm sparkle into his eyes. He drops me off at the door and makes his way to physics. Next door to the history room is where Dean has his bio class. I glance into the lab - him and a few others are chatting to the teacher so I wait for him. I check my phone, a few new messages popping up from others.

_arii_xo sent you a message at 9.30._  
can u tell greg ill b late to rehearsal?? i have a makeup quiz in geo. :(

_justjustin sent you a message at 10:39._   
have u got my art folder??

I frown; tapping out a reply.

you: why would i have ur art folder?   
justjustin: i thought i left it in urs last night  
you: didn't see it  
justjustin: crap  
justjustin: its fine. Catch u at lunch??  
you: ill be there

I lock the screen as Dean exits the lab.   
'Everything okay?'   
He nods. 'Just talking about taking the higher exam for finals.'   
'Yeah? What did he say?'

Dean is silent as we take our seats in history. He inhales deeply, and looks at me. 'He says he thinks I can do it.' His voice betrays his excitement, and his eyes light up. 'Oh, Dean! That's amazing!' I pull him in for a hug, and he bites his lip, unable to drop the smile that has formed. 'I can't believe it. I didn't think - I mean....'

I put my hand on his shoulder. 'Dean. You have always been intelligent. You just need to put your mind to it. I know how much you want to go on to do medicine. You've got this.' I tell him sincerely. 'Thank you, (Y/N). I - I wouldn't have been able to do this without you.'   
'What are friends for?'   
  
Turning to face front, I find my gaze meeting the one and only Alexander Hamiltons. He smirks at me and I look away quickly. Me and Alexander tend to get volatile towards each other. Only last week we'd had a fight - not to get into too much detail, but it ended with us both dragged in front of Principal Washington, with severe warnings, and myself with the threat of being kicked from the show Saturday night. That was enough to keep me in line - losing my role would mean losing my shot at a scholarship to my dream school next fall. I am not going to let Alexander or any of his annoying friends rip that away from me. 


	2. safe place

A free period brings reprieve from the bore of school work. Myself and Dean decide against chilling in the canteen; and instead, head to the library where we can use the computers and chat quietly amongst ourselves.

It's almost empty, save for the librarian and a few of the students studying with their aids. Passing by the shelves upon shelves of books, I linger by the drama section, eyes sweeping the different plays for potentials. Still searching for the perfect monologue for my audition, I decide to leave it for now; nothing catches my attention.

'How are you feeling about Saturday night?' Dean asks, and I shrug, logging onto the system and immediately opening onto Facebook. 'Pretty good.' Without even looking, I can tell he's giving me the ' _oh, really?_ ' face. He knows me all too well, and with the recent news of a special guest in the audience, he also knows how high the stakes are pitched for me. 'I'm nervous...' I admit, quietly, scrolling through my feed, liking a few status' without really reading them, sharing a musical quote from one of the many theatre pages I follow. 'I mean, it's not everyday a scout from your number one college comes to see one of your shows.'

'That's right. You know you have nothing to be worried about, anyway. You have this in the bag.' I smile vacantly over at him, returning my attention to the screen. 'I'd rather not be overly-confident, Dean.'

'You need the confidence,' he insists, 'it's cockiness you want to avoid.'

A small bloop signals an instant messages from WeWeb - the school's messaging system integrated with our emails. I instantly reach to turn down the volume, an instinctive habit even when there's no one here who would object to a few small sounds every few moments. I look at the username, frowning.

_JohnLaurens10_ messaged you

_JohnLaurens10_ : hey, sorry to bother you but i was wondering if you would mind maybe helping me out with this test in english?

I nudge Dean with my elbow, beckoning for him to lean over to see the screen. 'The fuck?' He asks, under his breath. 'I thought Laurens' was meant to be a genius.'

'He is.' I agree, taking a moment to think before typing out my reply.

_You_ : What do you need help with?   
_JohnLaurens10_ :the relationships stuff. i'm pretty solid on theme and use of symbolism, but i need help understanding the different relationships.

Well, that was what we were talking about in class this morning... still, I hesitate. He may be the nicest one of Hamilton's crew, but he's still one of them.

'Do you think Laurens' would jeopardise his perfect record to help Hamilton pull something on you?' Dean questions, and I honestly don't know.   
I've taken too long to reply, and another message flashes up on the screen.

_JohnLaurens10_ : if you're busy, i totally understand, you have the show and all the work and that. :)

Guilt nips at the edge of my chest, sharp and uncomfortable. With a defeated sigh, I tap out another message.

_You_ : I'd be happy to help. Any time in particular suit you?  
 _JohnLaurens10_ : Really! Are you sure?? Maybe later tonight after school?   
_You_ : I have rehearsals four to six.   
_JohnLaurens10_ : maybe after? if you wouldn't be too tired.   
_You_ : yeah, sure. Place?   
_JohnLaurens10_ : I can text you on my address?   
_You_ : you want me to come to yours??  
 _JohnLaurens10_ : my parents are out tonight, so it'll be quiet. easier to study.

Something about this is putting me on edge. A sickly feeling twists in my gut - but I've already said yes, and I don't like going back on my word. I type ' _okay_ , _see_ _you later then_ ,' receiving a reply simply reading ' _cool_!'. Shutting down the programme, I sigh and open up a Word Document, pulling out my English notes, written sloppily in shorthand, joined writing. It would be a miracle if John could manage to make head or tail of the messy scrawl across the pages, so I set about typing out important points, putting quotes in italics and starting statements in bold.

'Are you going to help him?' I nod. 'You're too soft for your own good, sometimes.'   
'Okay, Mr. 'Cried for an hour after seeing a rabbit on the side of the road'.' Dean's face flushes to the tips of his ears, voice acquiring a strained tone. 'It was all bloody and sad!'   
'You're bloody sad.' I mutter, not really meaning it.

As my mind wanders to what I have to do later; go to John Laurens' house and tutor him in what I know to be one of his best subjects. Another sickening twist in my gut. I push it out of my mind, focusing on the notes, deciding to just see how it goes.

**

'Hey, babe.' Strong, tan arms wrap around me from behind; Justin places a kiss on my cheek before moving around to sit opposite me. I duck my head, still unused to even slight shows of PDA.

'Where's your boy Dean?' He asks, reaching across the table to take my hands in his. 'Talking to his bio teacher about the extra work he'll be taking on for the applied exam.' I say airily, as if its no big deal. Justin's face lights up; 'He got asked to take it? That's great!'

Pride swells as I think of all the hard work my best friend has put in over the past three years. 'Yeah, it is.'

'I'll have to congratulate him for it later.' He runs his knuckles lightly over the back of my hand, the soft sensation soothing and pleasant. Brown eyes meet mine, and he quirks a brow. 'Speaking of later...' he continues suggestively, and I smile bashfully. 'I have tutoring after rehearsals.'

'Oh, for who?'  
'John Laurens.'   
His brow furrows, nose scrunching up in confusion - I smile again, at the utter adorableness of my boyfriend.

'I thought you didn't like him.'  
'He's alright. It's just for English for an hour anyway.'   
'As long as he doesn't try to steal you away from me.' He jokes, and I shake my head. 'Never gonna happen,' I reassure him.

'When are you free next?'   
I pause, making a show of thinking hard. 'I'll have to check my diary.' I adopt a lofty, posh voice, which makes him laugh. The sound is warm and inviting. 'Seriously though, next time we get to hang out will probably be Saturday. After the show.' I clarify, wincing inwardly as his face drops. 'Friday?' He questions hopefully.   
'Working.' I tell him regretfully. 'But I'm off all weekend, so you have me to yourself Sunday, too.' I try to cheer him up.

'At least we get to have a banging after party Saturday night. Is Greg seriously hosting it at his place?'

'Yep,' I confirm, 'Apparently his house is up to score with the Schuyler mansion.' Justin lets out a low whistle, drawing my attention to his soft lips. He notices and smirks, leaning over to capture mine in a chaste kiss. I pull away slightly; 'Sorry.' I mutter, and he shakes his head. 'Don't be - I'm sorry. I know how uncomfortable you are kissing in public. You just looked so cute.'

'I am not cute.'   
'Yeah, you are.'

I lean in to kiss him, taking us both by surprise. He blinks, eyes wide. I grin. 'I have to go. I have rehearsals. See you tomorrow.'

'Yeah... see you then,' he nods, still stunned from my own act of affection in front of a half-filled cafeteria. They're beginning to file out now, anyway, as school comes to an end for the day.   
Heading toward the auditorium, loud footsteps approach from behind at a run. Its Laurens, and he thrusts a torn piece of paper into my hands. 'My address,' he informs me, a little out of breath, 'for later.' I nod, curling my fingers around the scrap. 'See you then.'

He smiles - for a moment, I'm struck by how sweet it is, how bright. His entire face seems to lift, eyes lighting up. Then, he turns and rushes off down the hallway again, and I shake myself from my stupor. Slightly discomfited, I read his address. It's on the way to Dean's place, I note with surprise. Although why am I surprised? Why would I know where Laurens lives? Anyway. Dean can drop me off there, and it's not too far a walk home then after. Steeling myself slightly, I slip it into the pocket of my jeans. By the time I've reached the backstage dressing rooms my mind is emptied of the days events; no images of surprisingly cute boys or irritating Frenchmen or anything else aside from the play. This is where I'm comfortable; this is my haven. This is my safe place.


	3. it was only a smile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for the delay in updating! christmas was unusally busy this year. hope you like this, & that you all had a happy holiday, whether or not you celebrate christmas.

Standing outside of John Laurens' house, hands fidgeting as I wait for the door to open, I have never felt more nervous in my life. If this turns out to be a set-up of some sort, a prank, I swear down...

Laurens appears with that same bright smile from earlier; curly hair bouncing as he grins at me, greeting me cheerfully. He opens the door wider and escorts me through to the kitchen. It's quite small; marbled tiles, black polish cabinets, a spotless, sparkling sink without dishes in the basin. Ours is always full to the brim, I think; strange when there's only two people in our house. 'How was your rehearsals?' He asks, as he grabs two glasses from one of the cabinets. 'Really good, thanks. I can't wait to perform it.' I tell him, running a hand through my (y/h/l&c), using the tie around my wrist to pull it off my face. 'I probably stink,' I state unashamedly, 'Didn't have time to run home for a shower.' 

'I would offer my own shower, but I'm a little afraid of sounding like a sleazy fuckboy,' he jokes lightly. I find myself laughing, taking the glass of water he holds out to me. 'I had a feeling you'd be thirsty - it's a bit of a walk from the school. Sorry I couldn't have picked you up, but I don't drive.' His cheeks flush, eyes flickering to his own glass. I wave a hand dismissively. 'It's fine. Dean was supposed to drive me, then he got a call from his mother demanding he go straight home, half an hour before rehearsals ended.' I explain, and he nods, sipping at his water. 'So, shall we begin?'  
'Of course. Where do you want to start? 

\--  
His sitting room is just as neat as the kitchen - the tv screen seems to shine, it's so clean. Books are neatly lined up along a large bookshelf at the far wall, the beige curtains held back by two ties, the window overlooking the perfectly trimmed grass. A small table sits in the corner by the window, next to a leather sofa, the colour matching the curtains. The table is a darkened mahogany, and Laurens pulls back a seat, gesturing to me. Unnerved by the chivalrous gesture, I sit, emptying my backpack and setting up my notebooks, copy of the novel, and a few pens. The contrast between my things is stark compared to Laurens' - his notebooks are pristine, writing utensils neatly packed in a clear, plastic case. Even his copy of the novel, where mine is dogeared and tattered, his could be mistaken for a newly-minted version. Suddenly a little embarrassed I open my notes, an effort to distract myself. It backfires terribly when he opens his own - neat rows of print. I stare down at my own handwriting, loopy, scrawly, shameful next to Laurens'. He smiles at me again. I force one back, and, silently thanking god that I had printed off some notes, we begin to work.

\--  
After what feels like only a few minutes, a sharp ding jolts us both - someone's phone. My notifications don't sound like that, so when he looks at me, I shake my head. Dropping the pen with a clatter, he rubs his hands together - I note how slender yet strong they look - before dropping them to pat at his pockets. 

He frowns, then his expression clears. 'It's in the kitchen - would you mind getting it for me while I finish these?' Nodding, I do as he asks, picking up his phone. I hand it to him when I get back and he checks the message, before tossing it on the couch, eyes rolling. 

'What?'  
'It was just Herc, talkin' big about this party after the show Saturday night.'  
'Oh. Are you going? To the show.'  
He nods, never lifting his eyes from the paper as he scribbles down his notes. 'Yeah, wouldn't miss it.' 

I smile, pleasantly confused. 'Really?' 

He glances up to meet my gaze, blue eyes warm and honest for a second, before looking back down at the paper. 'We've never missed one, since freshman year.' He confesses, voice low as though he is embarrassed. 

'We?'  
His curly hair bounces as he nods again. 'Me, Alex, Herc, Laf. Even Angelica and Eliza.' 

I sit back in the armchair, allowing this information to sink in slowly. It shocks me, honestly. I never would have thought they'd be interested in school theatre. Again, I let my eyes fall onto the hunched over form of John, brown curls obscuring half his face. He has very child-like features, little dimples. I notice his tongue peeking out, ever-so-slightly, from the corner of his mouth as he meticulously takes notes off mine. As though feeling my gaze, he glances up again. 'What?' 

Suddenly embarrassed, I avert my gaze to the wall behind him. 'Nothing. Just... appreciate the support.' He smiles again, and I'm beginning to wish he would stop doing that. My phone buzzes in my pocket.

justjustin sent you a message at 21.54

Five to ten? How did I stay that late? 

justjustin: hey, you up?  
you: still in laurens  
justjustin: woah... he must need a lot of help lol  
you: lost track of time. i should get home, dad will notice i'm gone soon haha  
justjustin: how you getting back??  
you: probably have to walk. laurens dont have a car  
justjustin: in the dark?? I dont think so. whats laurens address?? Ill pick you up  
you: no, you don't need to do that justin, its a long drive  
justjustin: so? i'm not letting my girl walk in the dark alone 

A faint flutter ripples in my belly at his words - my girl. I can't hide the smile that appears on my lips.  
I send him on the directions and he says he'll he here in a half hour. 

'Is that the time?' Laurens' shocked voice pulls my attention, and I nod. 'Justin's gonna pick me up, it'll take him about a half hour to get here.' 

We clear up the materials, my notes and his pens, and then he relaxes back into his armchair. I still feel awkward, sitting upright in the other chair, looking around. 

'So,' he begins conversationally, 'how long have you and Justin been together?'

'A few months.'  
He nods, lips pursing. 'Never would have thought he'd be your type.'  
My eyes narrow: 'why would you assume to know my type?' I challenge.  
He shrugs. 'Didn't think the jock and the theatre kid would have that much in common.'

Stunned into silence by his comments, I cross my arms over my chest. 'Oh, I didn't offend you, did I? I'm sorry. Sometimes I don't think before I speak.' He explains apologetically. I raise my eyebrows, chuckling softly. 'You didn't offend me.' 

'I'm sure he's a nice guy.'  
'He is.'  
'That's good.'

Again, we lapse into an uncomfortable silence. My eyes fall onto the emptied glasses on the table - I leap up, taking them and heading for the kitchen. 

'What are you doing?' Laurens' confused voice follows me to the next room. I put the glasses into the basin and switch on the water, hissingly quietly at the coolness of the liquid as it gushes from the spout. I rinse them both out, aware of Laurens' hovering behind me. 'I'm being polite. Washing these.' He leans over me - I feel the heat of his chest against my back - and takes a dish cloth. He holds it out of my reach when I try to take it from him. 'You wash, I'll dry.' He insists, and does so. He puts them back - I pretend not to look at the sliver if skin revealed as he leans up to put the glasses back into the cabinet. 

A car horn sounds out suddenly - Laurens' head jerks in surprise. 'That was quick.' He mutters to himself. I know I'm imagining the hint of disappointment in his voice. I grab my bag and he walks me to the door, thanking me for my help. I shrug. 'You didn't need much guidance.' He seems to blush, it's hard to tell in the dark of night. The only light is that of the sitting room lamp shining into the hallway. Justin waves from the drivers seat and I bid farewell to Laurens. 'See you tomorrow.' He calls out after me, and I return the sentiment. Climbing into Justin's jeep, he leans over to give me a kiss. As he pulls back, I catch a glimpse over his shoulder of the door shutting. As the jeep purrs into life, his hand finds mine. 'How was it?' 

'Fine. I'm exhausted, though.'  
'Rehearsals good?'  
I hum noncommitedly. His hand squeezes mine and I smile his way. The whole way home, I try valiantly to ignore the thoughts suddenly filling my mind; about how Justin's thick, strong hands are so very different from John's. 

At home, Dad greets me vacantly from his spot at the kitchen counter, engrossed in his work. The basin of the sink is piled high, and if I wasn't so tired I'd clear it up. Instead, I go straight to my room, stripping off, and falling into bed. Half asleep before my eyes hit the pillow, my last few thoughts are of a sweet, sweet smile and brilliant, bright blue eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't own hamilton etc, etc. this is unbeta'd and unedited, apologies for any mistakes.


	4. under the spotlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is pm just filler i guess?? writer's block sux lmao anyway. hope you enjoy this anyway.

A crumpled up piece of paper hits off the side of my face, tumbles onto the floor. I turn in my seat to glare at Ariana. 

'What the fuck?' 

She smiles at me from the mirror. 'I've been talking to you for ten minutes and you've not been listening.' 

'Mustn't have been that interesting.' 

Glossy lips form a pout. 'What's on your mind?'  
'Gay porn,' I inform her drily. Ariana rolls her eyes and turns to face me. 'Seriously. Are you nervous for tonight, is that it?' 

I snort; 'I've been on stage a million times, Ana.'  
'Not with a college scout in the audience.' she points out. She begins to smirk. 'Unless you're thinking of the celebrations with a certain basketball player later on?' 

I decide against dignifying her suggestive question with an answer. Instead, I pick up an eyeliner pencil and start making myself up. I hear her sighing disappointedly. 'I think I might try to get laid tonight.'

'Yeah? Anyone in mind?' 

I hear tapping noises as she unlocks her mobile. 'Hmm. Dunno.' 

Picking up face powder, I brush it across my skin, the soft bristles soothing. A knock at the door makes me drop the brush with a clatter, heart thudding louder. 'Shit.' I mutter to myself, as Ariana throws me a strange look and answers the door. 

'What do you want?'  
'That's not very nice,' comes a familiar, cheery voice. I follow her to the door - Laurens smiles at me and holds up a white envelope, offering it to me. 'Uh.. what..' 

'Good luck tonight. Not that you'll need it. See you at the after party!' He rushes off again, and Ariana closes the door. She stares at me. 

'What?'  
'Well? Open it!' She yanks the card from my hand. 'Oi!' 

She rips the paper open, using the tips of her long, acrylic nails to tear at it. She yanks out a card, blue background, an empty stage with a spotlight shining down in a perfect circle on the front. 

'(Y/N),' she begins to read out, over-enunciating the words in a mocking tone. 'Give it here!' I reach for it but she leans away and holds it up, continuing on as though I haven't spoken. 'Good luck tonight. Can't wait to see your performance. I'll get the drinks in later on. Have fun! From John.' She drops her hand and allows me to snatch the card back. 'That's adorable.' She coos and I scowl, going back to my dresser and reading over the words myself. His handwriting still perfect, his signature large and looping together. Something warms inside my chest and a smile grows on my lips without my consent. I put it down and shrug it off - 'I tutored him for a test. He's just being nice.' 

Ariana raises her perfectly arched brows. 'He's cute.' 

'Is he? Never noticed.' 

'He's got that real sweet look about him. The dimples and that. Not really my type.' She sounds disappointed. 

'Shut up and do my eyebrows, please.' 

** 

Half an hour before final call, someone else knocks at the door. I'm half in, half out of my costume, but lucky enough it's a simple pairing of jeans and a plaid shirt so I peek my head around the door with shirt held closed with my hand. 

'Justin!'  
'Hey, baby. Wanted to say hi, and good luck, to you and Ariana.'  
'Thank you! She's not here - doing makeup down the hall - but I'll pass on the message.'  
He leans against the doorframe, trying to push the door further open. 'I don't get an invite in?' 

My cheeks flush and I curse - I do not want to be red as a tomato going up in front of all those people. 'I'm not dressed.' He grins wider and I roll my eyes automatically. His mouth opens but before he can speak, I shake my head fiercely. 'Don't even think about it.' 

He chuckles and leans in to press a kiss to my cheek. 'I'd better leave you to it. See you later.'

'I'll be the one in the spotlight,' I tease. 'Primadonna,' he teases, before backing away and leaving. Closing the door, I begin to button up the shirt - and my eyes fall on the card Laurens' gave me. I wonder what Justin would say if he knew. We haven't been together long enough for one of us to get jealous, and I hope this doesn't spur on a release of the green-eyed monster. 

'Focus, (Y/N), focus.' I mutter to myself, staring at myself in the mirror, double checking that my hair is tied up tight enough and that my makeup is okay. I sit down again, centering myself and getting into character. 

The next thing I know, Ariana is calling to me. 'Ready to go, girlfriend?' I nod, excitement growing with a tiny bit of nerves too. 

'Your highlight is beautiful.' I tell her, and she preens. I laugh; but it is true. It's gold powder that seems to glow every time she angles her head a certain way, emphasising her cheekbones, looking amazing against her dark skin. The white, chiffon dress grazes her knees and the strappy heels on her feet elevate her height so she's nearly my size. She takes my hand and squeezes. 'Let's knock it out of the park.' I tell her, and she grins. In the wings, I make eye contact with Dean who is standing on the other side, looking all the part of the Good Choirboy, hair parted, white shirt buttoned up to the last. Next to him is Luke, his hair swept over his forehead, the other side of the spectrum, bad-boy vibes radiating. The thick black hoody hangs down over his ripped jeans and he grins my way. It's comical, but also incredible, one of the sweetest boys I know can play the part of a drug-peddling gangster. 

Ariana and Joanie are peeping around the curtains to look at the audience, something I have never allowed myself to do. They giggle and then gasp - 'is that him?' - and I am powerless to the pull of getting a glimpse of the man who holds my future in his hands. Allowing myself to break my own rule just this once, I edge closer to the pair of girls and ask which one they think he is. Joanie gestures to the middle of the very front row - a man none of us recognise, wearing a name badge that is impossible to read from here, is sitting there, looking around, dressed in a dark suit with a red tie knotted perfectly around his neck. 'He's cute!' giggles Ariana, and I shove her aside to get a proper look. 

Movement from the far end of the front row snatches my attention - there. The 'Hamilsquad' are messing around, snapping selfies, laughing together, spread out across their seats. Nerves suddenly bundle up like twine in my belly - I step away like I've been burned. Ariana is too busy ogling the potential scout to notice. But Dean is looking concerned and he mouths 'you okay?' to me with a small frown. I nod, forcing a smile. His eyes narrow and I send a thumbs up across the way. He relaxes a little and then Greg is by my side. He beckons the others over and they cross the stage quietly. We huddle in a circle and Greg gives us a pep talk, reminding us to not pay too much attention to any one member of the audience - Ariana nudges me at this.

'Have fun. You rehearsed, you worked hard, all of you. So now you just gotta have fun.' Greg smiles proudly as he surveys us all, and then claps his hands. We scatter, taking up opening positions and waiting for buzz of the audience to quiet to a hum, before silence takes over momentarily.

The music starts, the curtain rises. The lights shine and burn on my face. Showtime. 


	5. a warning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader is given a strange caution by a Frenchman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay in updating. Life be crazy. 
> 
> @ya'll commenting: thank you so so much your words mean more to me than i can explain, you are all what keeps me writing <3

Ariana is still wiping away her tears as we all stumble backstage, dizzy on the adrenaline rush of performing, high off the audience's applause. She grips me tightly as she draws me into another hug, cutting off my air supply.

'I'm not actually dead, Ana - but I will be if you don't let me breathe!'  
She loosens her arms and pulls back, keeping her fingers clutched at the shirt fabric on my shoulders. 'I'm sorry! I know, I just, seeing you fake-die...' I throw an arm over her shoulder. 'You're not going to be getting rid of me so easy, kiddo.' She nods and smiles and wipes at her face. 'God, my makeup!' Panic consumes her as she dashes to the bathroom, grief for my character already forgotten. Dean comes up behind me, lifts me and cheers loudly. 'I am so pumped right now!' He hollers in my ear. 

'You should be - that was awesome!'

'It really was,' comes a familiar voice from down the hallway. Alexander Hamilton approaches us with his usual confident swagger. Dean tenses immediately, and I fold my arms over my chest. 'Thanks.' 

'Some lady gave me this for you.' An envelope is thrust into my hands and I glance at the elegant letters spelling out my name. 

'What lady?'  
Alexander shrugs. 'Didn't say. Just said to make sure you got this.' 

Frowning, I turn the paper over in my hands; before a hand claps onto my shoulder, pulling me back. 'We should head back to yours, to get ready.' Dean whispers, and I nod, thanking Alexander quickly. I grab my bag from the dressing room, stuffing the letter into it before heading out with Dean to dress up for the party. 

\--

Bass is thudding loudly throughout the entire house, and what a house it is. Three floors, all open, airy spaces, modern design. A large spiral staircase in the hall and decorative minimalist paintings on the wall. Greg ducks his head, bashful, when I compliment his beautiful home. 'I had money come in from a great-uncle a few years ago, so I fixed this place up proper. Your dad not coming?' The disappoint flashing across his face when I shake my head is so fleeting I'm not entirely sure I don't imagine it. 

'Work,' I say wryly. It's always work with dad, but it's no big deal. He comes to shows when he has the chance, so I never get upset if he has to duck out of a few here and there. 'That man needs to loosen up and find some time to relax.'

I nod my agreement, but roll my eyes. 'Yeah, he's been told. He never listens.' I hesitate momentarily. 

'So - the scout-'  
Greg chuckles. 'He was very impressed by what he saw tonight. Said he'll be in touch for auditions within in the next two weeks.' He winks and my heart rate speeds up. 'I hope -' Greg cuts me off with a wave of his hand. 'It was you and Ariana he came to see.' He reminds me. 'Thank you,' I say earnestly, 'for everything you've done.' The director smiles brightly, and squeezes my shoulder. 'My pleasure.'  
Over Greg's shoulder I notice John Laurens gesturing wildly as he entertains his friends with some story, and I excuse myself to walk his way. 

Intercepted halfway across the floor by an arm wrapping around my waist, I let out a yelp and almost spill my drink. Justin smirks and leans in to kiss the crown of my head as I halfheartedly shove at his chest with one hand. 'Ass! I could have dropped the glass,' he shrugs, brown eyes twinkling. 'But you didn't.' He gestures to our surroundings, 'How awesome is this?'  
'I know. I'm so glad Greg isn't a teacher, otherwise this would never be allowed.'

Letting his hands fall to my own, our fingers intertwine, and Justin tugs me toward the space where half the senior class, half the juniors, and even a few sophomores are jumping in time to the music. 'No, no, no,' I resist, pressing my heels to the floor. 'Please, babe? One dance. One.' He hholds up a single finger and I tap the tip with my own and shake my head apologetically. 'Nope. Go ask Ariana, she'll dance your feet off.' I pull away and ignore how he pouts in my direction. 

I turn again, only to find that John and his crew are nowhere in sight. I sigh, and sip on my drink - a hand clamps down on my shoulder, startling me. I just about manage to hold onto the glass, looking around with a scowl thinking it's Justin trying to make me jump again. The scowl falls away when I find myself face to face with Maria Reynolds. 

'Hey,' I say, surprised. We haven't spoken in months. She smiles, lips painted a dark, lustrous red. It matches the satin dress that clings to her every curve, wild curls hanging loose and vibrant around her shoulders. 'Just wanted to say well done on the show. You were amazing.' 

My cheeks redden, her compliment lifting my spirits, though I merely thank her quietly. 'We should hang out, soon.' She moves closer so I can hear her over the music. I swallow harshly, nodding. 'Maybe next weekend?' Her lips brush off my ears and I suppress a sudden shiver. Again, I can only nod. 

'Great!' She says delightfully. Her warm hand squeezes my bare wrist, leaving behind gooseflesh and raised hair from the touch. 'I'll text you,' she winks and then strides off, confidently in her stiletto heels. I recognise them, dark and high and strappy - I remember the last time she wore them... and how difficult it was to undo the straps to get them off ...

Clearing my throat, I push those memories away quickly before I get too lost in them; instead seeking out Laurens again. Circling the first floor of the house twice yields no joy - the unmissable group of boys are nowhere to be seen. The thought occurs to me that perhaps they left, and I deflate a little as I consider it. My gaze drifts to the dancing students, and a fond smile tugs at my lips when I see a worn out Justin being man-handled by Ariana to The Weeknd. 

'Shouldn't you be jealous, no?' A heavily accent voice from behind draws my attention. Lafayette is eyeing my boy-and-best friend curiously, gaze flickering to my face. 'No reason to be,' I shrug, realising suddenly my glass is empty. I slip past him to put it down on a nearby table, and he follows. 

'Can I help you?'  
His lips curl into a devious smirk. 'Non, I just wished to talk with you.'  
I frown. 'Talk with me?' I repeat warily. He nods once. 'So, did John give you your card?'

'He did. I've been looking for him,' I admit, glancing around and failing again to seek him out. 'To say thank you. Do you know where he is?'

Lafayette nods, pursing his lips and refraining from answering my question. He tips his head forward, and says, 'He is a sweet boy.'  
Puzzled by his response, I struggle to find one of my own. Lafayette's eyes are dark and intense, boring into my own, putting me on edge. I shift away, uncomfortable. 'He is a sweet boy and I know our ... relationship with you and your friends 'ave never been... good...' he continues slowly, as if only figuring out the words as he goes along. 'But he is good and kind. I don't wish to see him hurt.'

'Why would I hurt him?'  
Lafayette shakes his head and sucks his teeth, then draws away from me a few feet. 'If you want to say thank you, he is outside with Alexander.' Before I can push him for answers he's gone, leaving me completely perplexed.


	6. friends in strange places

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, hope this is okay, it's vvv short but things should pick up in the next chapter!!
> 
> unedited&unbeta'd, apologies for any mistakes as it is currently 3am (well, 2:58am. technicalities.)

The cool nighttime air is refreshing, as I step out into Greg's backyard. It is a large space, emerald glass glittering with dew beneath the starry sky. 

To my right, laughter. Hercules Mulligan is leaning against the wall, holding out a half-smoked cigarette to Hamilton. I clear my throat, too quietly - none of them hear, so I step closer and call out to Laurens. He turns, surprised. 

Hercules and Hamilton's eyes drop up and down my body; immediately, my arms cross over my chest as I motion for John to join me. He slips his hands into the pockets of his black jeans as he strolls over, a white dress shirt complimenting his darker lower half. His hair is pulled into a loose ponytail, several rebellious curls falling around his temples. He hits me with the smile that always catches me off-guard - 'Hey, (Y/N). What's up?'

'I just wanted to say thank you, for the card. It was very sweet of you.'  
His gaze drops to the concrete and he shrugs. 'No problem.' He mumbles, before redirecting his gaze to my face. 

He really _is_ cute, I think. Constellations of freckles decorate his lightly tanned skin, bright eyes framed by eyelashes of a jealousy inducing length. His arms are slender but muscled, his posture half-slouched. 

'(Y/N)?' John's voice breaks through my reverie, concern colouring the words. _Shit._

Forcing a laugh, I do my best not to look shamed. 'Sorry, I completely zoned out there. It's been a long day.' It's only as the words come out of my mouth that the weight of them hits me - exhaustion slamming down like a ton of bricks. Suddenly, all I want is my bed. Vaguely, I wonder what time it is, and if Dean would object to leaving now... 

'I'll see you on Monday?' I curse inwardly as I realise I've spaced on John again - poor guy is going to think I'm crazy. I nod and thank him again for the card, and for coming to the show, at which he shakes his head, insisting 'thank you and the rest of the cast for an awesome show!'. Lifting my hand slightly to greet Hercules and Hamilton, I'm rewarded with a smile from Hercules and a nod from Hamilton. Lafayette's words suddenly echo in my mind, and I turn on my heels to look back at John. He pauses. Smiles a little uneasily. 'Everything okay?'

Should I ask? I decide against it; perhaps Lafayette slipped a little too much vodka into his drink, or something, had me confused with someone else. I shake my head and slip away, at least, I try to. Hercules voice pulls me back when he calls my name. He looks at me silently for a few seconds as I hover on the edge of the dewy lawn. 'Nice dress,' he says finally, sounding sincere. Taken aback by the compliment said in a genial tone, I fumble my words in response. 'Uh, what-? I - oh, thank you.' Hamilton snorts, amused by how flustered I become. I shoot him a stony glare - and he winks back, leaving me feeling even more nonplussed than before. 

Back inside, I melt into the fray with ease. The music is a deafening roar as I allow the waves of dancing students to carry me around with no set destination in mind. Ariana twirls me around, Maria grabs me by the hand and dances close before Dean has me in his arms and passes me to Justin, red-faced and sweaty. When we kiss, I taste alcohol on his lips and the bitterness strikes a desire for some myself. I whisper as much in his ear, to which he replies, 'Let's go back to mine - house is empty, and I have more in my room.' His eyes are dark and lusty when I look up and nod - calling a quick farewell to the others as we stumble out and signal a taxi. Barely in the door a few moments, Justin is on me, hands cupping my face, my arms around his neck, dragging him in closer. He breaks away momentarily, and automatically my head leans back enough to expose my neck to him. He brushes his lips off the skin and I feel the vibrations as his chuckles. 'Where did you disappear to?' 

'Mm?' I ask, mind clouded with a sudden onset of hormones that have risen and wiped out any hint of tiredness. 'I couldn't find you for ages.' Justin says, nipping at my jawline. I relish the simple feeling, submitting to desire - groaning as he pulls back, looking at me. 

'What was the question again?' My hands fiddle with the hem of his shirt, and he covers them with his own, stilling my movements. 'Just wondering where you were when you left me alone on the dance floor.' His tone conveys hurt, but his eyes betray the humour. 'I went to thank Laurens for the card.' 

A crease appears in his brow. 'Card?'  
I shrug. 'He gave me a good luck card. As a thanks for tutoring.' 

Justin is quiet for a few long seconds, staring down at me, hands still on mine. 'What?'  
He shakes his head then - dips his head to capture my lips in a kiss that suddenly burns with renewed want, and all coherent thoughts (be they of tall, dark talent scouts or cute, freckled boys) slip away.


	7. crash landing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh look it's a rare update from i, the trash queen 
> 
> \--  
> warnings: brief mentions of nakedness? swearing. think that's it? apologies for errors: unedited&unbetaed. i do not own hamilton/any of it's characters!!

My mouth feels like it's been stuffed full of cotton wool, dry and scratchy, as I come to in the late afternoon light. Justin has opened the curtains a little to let some sun stream in, weak in October's - no, November, today's the first - November's weather. The empty space next to me is still warm, so he hasn't been up long. Rolling over into his spot, I bury my face in his pillow. It's soft and smells like cinnamon; like him. Inside my head, a pounding drum beats.

'Morning, sunshine,' comes a voice from the doorway, and I groan in response. Justin chuckles, the sound low and gravelly. 'I have coffee,' he tempts, and I manage to lift my head, sitting up. I'm naked still but it's nothing he hasn't seen before, so I simply make grabby hands at the discarded shirt on the floor. He tosses it my way, and I tug the material over my head. Steam rises in ghostly spirals from the mug in his hand and I take it, sipping it gratefully.

'I love your coffee machine.'

'That's why you're with me, isn't it?'

'Why else?'

'I'll have you know, I'm a catch. Brains, beauty, brawn, the whole package.'  
I smile into the cup; 'take out the brains- there's you.'  
'Funny. Scoot over.'

Making a fuss over having to slide two inches to the right, he settles with his back against the headboard. Automatically, I lean in, and he wraps an arm around me.

'Have fun last night?' He asks, absently trailing his fingertips up and down my arm. I nod. 'Yeah, it was good. Did you?'

'Ariana doesn't know when to stop,' he elbows me gently when I laugh. 'My feet are killing me.'

I shrug. 'You wanted to dance.'  
'And you were too busy with Laurens.'

'Mm,' I take another sip. Wait to see if he pushes the subject of Laurens. He doesn't.

'What time is it?' Justin looks over, reaches to the floor to get his phone. I appreciate the view of bare, muscled abs and the taut muscle in his arms as he stretches. He gives me a look when he notices my ogling. 'What?'

'Enjoying the view?' He asks with a raised brow, pressing at the screen. 'So what if I am?'

'It's twelve forty-five.' He pauses, runs a hand through his dark hair. 'I have work at three.'

'Oh. That means I have to move. Put clothes on. Ugh.'

He pulls me into him again, mindful of the hot mug. 'We have a while,' he mutters in my hair, stuck up at odd angles from sleep. He presses a kiss to my temple, and I smile at the affectionate gesture.

'Thanks for coming last night.'  
'Of course, babe. You gotta be on the bleachers for the next match though?'  
'When is it?'  
'Next Tuesday, not this one. Like, after.'  
'Okay,' I agree happily, stretching my legs and savouring the strangely satisfying sensation of the joints popping loudly. Justin winces. It's a habit he hates, makes him uncomfortable. A thought occurs to me.

'Did you know Hercules Mulligan smokes?'  
Justin angles his head to look down at me. 'What?'  
'The star of wrestling team. He smokes,' a smirk plays on Justin's lips. 'Smokes what?'  
I slap his arm lightly. 'Cigarettes.'  
He shrugs. 'No. Why?'  
I breathe a sigh. 'I dunno. He's just - he's an athlete who smokes. How does that work?'

  
'Everyone has their vices.' I look up. 'What's yours?'  
He levels our gazes. 'You,' and I slap him again. 'Cheesy fucker.'  
'What can I say? I have a weakness for (y/h/c) actresses.'  
'Is that so?' He grins. 'What's yours?'

I open my mouth before I find that I have no answer. I close it again, a little discomfited.  
'Caffeine? Uh... musical theatre,' I decide. 'That doesn't count, it's not a vice,' he protests.

'Well I can't think of anything else!'  
'You'll find one,' he says, 'everyone has a vice. Everyone.'

I hum, a noncommittal sound. 'I have to shower,' he says, pushing off the bed. 'Yeah. I'll get dressed, you can drop me off at home on your way to work.'

He makes a face. 'You can walk.'  
I toss a pillow that goes wide and hits his chest of drawers. He looks down at me amusedly. 'Ha. Good try.'

'Jerk,' I mutter, scowling. 'Your jerk,' he reminds me, leaning down to steal a chaste kiss before backing out and away.

**

Home is quiet when I arrive back. Peering into Dad's study, he is swamped with papers, pens scattered across the expanse of the oak desk. He taps away at the keys of his laptop. 'Hey dad,' I say, quietly, so as not to give him a fright. He looks up, eyes wide, laden down with purple bags.

'Hello sweetheart,' he says, sounding tired. For the first time, I notice how old he is getting. Not in a bad way, just that his hair is turning grey at the temples, crows feet beginning to imprint at the corners of his eyes. Stress, I think.

'How was last night?' He wants to know, sounding apologetic. 'It was really good. Don't feel bad about not being able to be there - you've seen me act a million times now.'  
He sighs. 'I know, but I love seeing you on stage. You always make me so proud.'

My throat swells suddenly, emotion overwhelming my mind. My chest tightens. 'I love you, dad. Have you eaten?'

He smiles; entire face relaxing as he does, brightening it a little, like when clouds move over in the sky and let some watery spring sunlight wash down. 'I love you, too. Yes - I ordered Indian. I didn't know when you would be back, there's some leftovers?' I shake my head. 'Justin made chicken wraps before we left.'

'Ah. How is Justin?'  
'He's fine. Working.'  
Dad nods, looking pensive over the top of his laptop. 'He's a nice young man,' he murmurs approvingly. Thankfully, there's no 'stay away from my daughter or else' kinda shit with my father. He's protective, of course, but not overly so.

'I'm gonna go to my room. Don't work too hard.' I know the words are redundant, because even a herd of elephants trampling through the house couldn't drag him away from his work. I say them anyway, to let him know I'll be keeping an eye on him.

Two hours later sees me in the same spot - a history essay half written in my notebook, pen stains smudging my fingers, books strewn around with random passages marked for reference. Exhausted, my head replays the same line I'm stuck on, unsure of where to go to next.

**'The Bubonic Plague was one of many infectious diseases caused by the sudden drop of the cat population.' ***

I repeat the line over unconsciously, stumbling over the words as they make less sense each time. A shrill tone jolts me from the work induced stupor - physically, my arm flying out and knocking my backpack onto the floor. I stare at the mess of papers that tumble out, feeling like I may as well just drive over a cliff right now. Dramatic? Probably. But my fingers ache, and my head pounds and my eyes feel dry and irritated from staring at a laptop screen. Sliding off the chair I crouch to pick up the things from my bag, stuffing them back in carelessly. An envelope inscribed with my name in blue fountain pen snatches my attention. I stand slowly, turning it over. Where -?

Oh.

I remember - 

_**'Some lady gave me this for you.' An envelope is thrust into my hands and I glance at the elegant letters spelling out my name.** _

_**'What lady?'  
Alexander shrugs. 'Didn't say. Just said to make sure you got this.'**_  

-

I run my palm over the flat surface, feeling the thickness of what lays inside. Ripping open the top, I take out a single folded piece of paper - a picture flutters from my grasp and floats slowly to land at my feet, face down. Shaking the paper out of its folds, I begin to reach for the picture - my eyes scan the page. My blood runs cold, practically turning to ice in my body, as I catch the name - or, rather, the title - of the sender at the bottom. My stomach heaves, and I have to swallow thick, sour bile as it rises in my throat. Every last breath evacuates my lungs at a pace that would make Usain Bolt jealous. Winded, stomach lurching, I suddenly understand what people mean when they say the world is falling apart at their feet.

**

_Dear (Y/N)_

_First off, let me apologise if my writing is messy or difficult to decipher. I'm writing this on my knee in the back of the school's auditorium._

_You've just finished performing your show - and, wow. I am so proud of you. It is incredible, to see what a strong, talented young woman you are growing into. I knew your father would provide as a good role model, even if he is a little addicted to his work._

_I wanted to let you know that I was here. That I came to see you, your show. I know it's been a long time since you heard from me. By now, I'm probably nothing more than a faded face in an old photograph tucked away in a dusty album, and, well. That's to be expected. I hope I'm not intruding on your life by getting in contact with you. The last thing I want is to cause undue stress, especially during such an important year. But the fact that this is an important year for you, is the reason why I am writing. I can't believe how much I've missed with you - how much I allowed myself to miss. My baby girl, a senior! I feel old, haha._

_I recently moved back into the area, and have been contemplating how best to get in contact with you. I could have been more modern, I know, and sent a Facebook message or a Tweet, but something about putting the words down on paper feels a little more right. And I'm not very good with computers and the like - I'm still using an ancient Nokia phone. Tali is always at me to upgrade._

_Tali is your sister, by the way - she's the one on the left in the photo I have enclosed. With the long (y/h/c) hair? She looks so much like you._

_I know this is probably going to a bit of a shock, to say the least. I just... I wanted you to know, no, needed you to know... that I never forgot about you. I've thought about you every day since I left. I could give you a million excuses, to try and explain my behaviour, my choices, and why I made them. But that's exactly what they'd be, excuses. I'm leaving my address at the bottom of this letter. I don't expect anything of you, (Y/N), least of all do I believe that I deserve anything. But I'm asking you, anyway. Come and visit sometime. Drop by whenever you like. I'll put down my mobile number too, in case you'd prefer to maybe call first? Even if you just want to write a letter in reply, I would be unexplainably grateful for any small kind of contact from you. I have missed you so much._

_At the very least, please think about it. And I am very proud of you - your performance tonight was fantastic. The guy playing the gangster, that was Dean Smith wasn't it? He too has grown into a lovely young man. And handsome, too! Remember we used to tease you both, say you'd end up getting married one day? You both would get so mad._

_Anyway, I'll sign off now. I hope to hear from you soon._

_Your loving mother._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - no.9 on this list. https://www.buzzfeed.com/mikespohr/51-historical-facts-that-are-totally-messed-up?utm_term=.uc9EpBDGE#.jdJG3gjJG
> 
> Is it true? I ain't know. Anyway, we should love cats.


	8. negotiate a peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo guys, sorry for the long updates. i acc kind of like this chapter?? idk it's prolly awful lmao but hope you like it!!
> 
> also sorry for any mistakes, u know the story by now, unbeta'ed unedited, etc etc etc, i don't own hamilton or any historical figure represented in this work of fiction.

My feet beat a funeral march down the empty corridors. I check the time on my phone again; 13.44. If I have it right, Alexander Hamilton should be using up a free classroom, room eleven, for his extra-curricular studies. He will be alone, for once, not surrounded by the various members of his little squad. I don't want to make a big scene in front of people, but there's a rage simmering beneath my skin as I get closer. The door comes into view, after a moment's hesitation, my hand grips the handle and press it down.

Alexander's head is bent, dark waves pulled into a manbun to keep it from his face. A black biro is gripped tight between two fingers as he scrawls almost furiously across a page. There are open books splayed around him, some on the floor. His face is pinched in concentration; and that concentration doesn't break even as I step into the room.

I cross the floor, pulling the letter from my pocket as I do. Slamming it down in front of him, he jerks away in shock, looking up at me, eyes dazed. 'What the fuck is this?'

He blinks a few times, taking a moment to register what's just happened. He glances over the letter, dark eyes scanning the page quickly. 'How should I know?'

'Because you're the one who gave it to me.'

He frowns then; I can nearly see him filtering through memories in his mind. The moment clicks and he nods. 'Oh, yeah. That lady, Saturday night.' He reads the letter again, then looks up at me, looking a little shocked. 'Your mother?'

I huff a bitter, humourless laugh. 'Knock it off. I know you're behind this. I haven't heard from the woman in ten years.' He holds up his hands, I can see the callouses on his palms from holding pens for long hours. 'Hey, this wasn't me! I swear, that lady gave me it to me, I'd no idea who she was-!'

I cut him off, slamming my hands down on the desk and leaning in over him. 'Don't lie to me, Hamilton!' He leans in himself and his face morphs into a cool anger; restraining himself for the moment. 'Why would I do this?' He asks, calmly.

'Some sort of sick joke,' he rolls his eyes and suddenly his books and notepads are scattering to the ground. He jumps up, furious at my actions. 'Hey!'

'Don't 'hey' me! You did this! Payback for whatever prank I pulled on you last time - I know we've done some crappy shit to each other before, but this crosses a line! That's my mother!'

'I wouldn't cross that line! If that's what you think of me, then fuck you!'

'No, fuck you!' I jab my fist against his chest, and he nearly falls back onto his chair. 'Do you have any idea what it feels like to have a parent run out on you, huh? No! Obviously not! Else you wouldn't have done something like this, bringing up a parent-'

'I do know what it's like! I know exactly what it's like!' He all but screams in my face. His face is now thunderous, dark as a raincloud and just as ominous. His voice is low but rough and he pushes me back by the shoulders, following as I stumble back. 'My dad walked out when I was ten! I know exactly how it feels! I didn't do this as a joke! A woman asked me to give the letter to you, so I did. It's not my fault it's from your estranged mother. Don't shoot the damn messenger!'

I want to throw something back in his face, accuse him of lying, force him to admit he's lying. But his expression is clear as day, and his words are honest. The floor beneath my feet seems to shift, and I am suddenly off-balance. Nausea rises and the room spins. I swallow hard, opening my mouth and finding it empty. The sudden silence is suffocating, and I realise something.

I want it to be Hamilton. I want this to be a joke. I can deal with that, with it being a lie - but to find out it's real? That my long-gone mother wants to crash land back into my life without warning? That, I cannot deal with.

If it's easier to pretend that Alexander was behind it, if it's easier to accept that he had orchestrated the whole thing as a joke, well, what does that say about me?

The letter burns in my hand. There's a soft crunching sound as my fingers clench and the paper crumples in my palm. Hamilton's eyes are still cool, sharp and focused as I look everywhere else but directly at him.

'I'm sorry, Hamilton.'

The words sink like a dead weight between us; guilt sprouts like a cactus in my throat and makes it harder to breathe. After an agonisingly long silence, he nods.

'It's okay.'

The tension breaks and begins to dissipate, and air comes a little easier now. 'What are you gonna do?' He enquires quietly, and I find myself at a complete loss. Shaking my head, my gaze fixed to the floor. 'I have no idea,' I confess softly, and leave him with that, backing up and away and out of the room. I'm vaguely aware of a bell ringing, but the sound is distant, like I'm submerged in water and everything is distorted. Someone shoves past me in the hall, effectively yanking me back to reality.

The bell. Sixth period. English. I'm going the wrong way. With heavy, slow steps I turn and make my way back the opposite direction, turning a corner and passing by the boisterous cafeteria, bypassing the gym and finally arriving at class, five minutes late. Hiddleston looks a little disappointed, but after looking at my face I notice concern creeping into the corner of his eyes. He simply nods at me, and I whisper a half-hearted apology as I walk by him to get to my desk.

The entire class is silent for once; Lafayette, Hercules and Laurens' gaze burns into me, and, catching Burr's gaze from across the room, he quirks a curious eyebrow at me. I ignore him.   
At the top of the room, Hiddleston clears his throat and stands up, a thick sheaf of papers in his hand. 'I was very impressed by your test scores, ladies and gentlemen,' he tells us, a hint of pride in his voice. 'I have your results here,' he holds the papers up, 'I'm going to give you them back now. Any questions you didn't pass must be completed for homework tonight. Those of you lucky enough to get an A, are free of literature for the night.'

He weaves through the scattering of desks around the room, pausing to drop papers and murmur a comment to the student as he goes. He presses the paper down onto my desk- 'Excellent work, Miss (Y/N),' he tells me, warmly. Slashed across the top of the page in blood-red pen, _**100%= A+**_.

Any other day, I would have been glowing at the praise from Hiddleston, beaming in delight at the score on my paper. Today, it all feels hollow. Finishing up handing out the results he retreats to his desk, and begins typing away at the keyboard.

A tap on my shoulder - Laurens' smile is blinding, and it's all I can do not to grimace at the sight of it. 'Hey- I passed thanks to you! How'd you get on?'   
I hold up the page. Blue eyes brighten like a summer afternoon and he claps me gently on the shoulder. 'Well done!'

'Thanks,' I mutter, not making eye contact. 'Are you okay?' Laurens asks, concerned. I nod, turning back around. Lafayette glances between the two of us, expression unreadable. The rest of the class passes in a blur; the rest of the day, really. I see Justin once, as we pass each other in the courtyard on the way to final period. He simply winks at me and then continues on, surrounded by his jock-friends jostling around. Dean is busy getting started on his higher bio studies and Ariana is nowhere to be seen, unsurprisingly.

**   
_evening_

I stare at the ceiling of my bedroom for so long the edges begin to shift and warp in; fuzzy spots dancing across my vision. Closing my eyes, I sigh - my mother's words rolling through my head, the photo next to me. I pick it up again, and study it carefully.

Tali. My sister- well, half-sister. My mother thinks she looks like me. I don't see it. Or, maybe, I don't want to. Her skin is darker than mine, tanned, long limbs, tall for her age. She must be around ten or eleven. I don't want to think about the ratifications of this girls age and what it means for the time our parents split. I never pushed my dad for details - in my head, if my mom wanted to rush off in the middle of the night without a second thought, well. Why should I give her a second thought? I had - still have - the most fantastic, supportive, and loving dad. A dad who, most importantly, has always been there when I needed him.

I didn't need a mother then, I don't need one know. But the number in smooth script on the crumpled page in my bag is like bait being dangled on a rod in front of me. It's tempting - and that makes me feel awful. Even worse is the fact I still feel guilty over my earlier exchange with Hamilton. The look on his face when he mentioned his dad...

**_*ding!*_ **

**1 New Message - John Laurens**

_john laurens sent you a message, @ 19.44_  
hey, u ok?? u seemed a little off earlier

_reply, @19.44_   
im fine

_john laurens sent you a message, @19.45_  
you sure? if theres anything u want to talk about i'm here

_reply, @19.45_  
dude wtf why are u suddenly trying to be my best friend??? what's your game???

_john laurens sent you a message, @19.48_  
i know it must seem sudden bc we never rlly talked before, but that was bc u and alex always had that rivalry goin on. i always liked u and thought u were funny, but its that whole dumb clique thing in high school, u know??? but we're older now, and i thought maybe u'd want to give being friends a shot :)

_john laurens sent you a message, @19.49_  
i'm a rlly good friend btw, i make awesome cookies and i give great hugs

Despite myself, a laugh bubbles up on my lips. Next thing, another stab of guilt, for snapping at John. He really is such a sweet guy. He makes me laugh, and that's what you want in a friend, right?

_reply, @19.49_  
if u still want to be my friend after how i've been acting ... i'd really like that

_john laurens sent you a message, @20.00_  
yay!! ^_^

I ask for Hamilton's number, tell him I need to apologise for something, and he tells me he'll talk to me tomorrow. I dial in the digits and press the speaker button, listening nervously to the trills as it rings out. Right before it cuts off to voicemail, Hamilton answers, sounding breathy.

**'Hello?'**  
'Hamilton?'  
 **'Yes?'**  
'It's, uh, it's (Y/N).'

Silence.

**'Oh, hey.'** To my relief, he sounds surprised, but not annoyed.   
'I got your number off Laurens. I hope that's okay...'  
 **'Yeah, no, that's cool, that's cool. So what's up?'**

I weigh my words before I say them; but I take too long and Hamilton speaks again, almost hesitant.

**'(Y/N)...?'**   
I clear my throat, rushing to speak. 'Sorry, sorry, I'm here, I'm, um, I just... I just wanted to apologise again, for earlier. It wasn't fair, to just jump on to attacking you, accusing you of shit when I clearly didn't know what I was talking about...'  
 **'You didn't know about my dad, (Y/N). I forgive you, honestly. You don't need to apologise. It must have been one hell of a shock. How you feelin'?'**  
'I'm okay, just caught me off guard, you know? Still. I shouldn't have blamed you.'

He sighs softly on the other of the phone. Downstairs, a door opens and shuts - dad's home.

**'Are you going to write a reply? Sorry, I shouldn't have asked, it's none of my business -'**  
'No, no, it's fine,' I interrupt quickly, shaking my head though I know he can't see me. 'I still don't know what to do.'

Dad's voice calls up from the downstairs hallway. I go to the top of the stairs. When he sees me on the phone, he simply holds up a pizza box, and smiles. I nod, and he disappears into the kitchen.

'Hey, Hamilton, I gotta go... thanks for the forgiveness.'   
He chuckles; it's a pleasant sound, and makes me smile. **'Thanks for the apology. See you tomorrow?'**  
'Yeah.'

Standing in the door of the kitchen, I lean against the frame on one shoulder. Dad is separating pizza slices, pouring dark wine into two glasses - every so often, he allows me a small measure of his favourite Merlot. Despite the dryness, I enjoy it- and pizza and wine means a night in where we can catch up on what's been going on in each others lives. Because we both tend to be busy when the other isn't, it's hard to communicate. This is the compromise, at least once a month, it's pizza and wine night, and it's something we both savour.

As he prepares our meal, I'm suddenly near tears, affection swelling up. I know then, that I don't need an estranged mother, or some half-sister - I have all the family I need, right here. And, maybe, I think to myself, a weight lifting off my shoulders, a few new friends, too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my dudes i just wanna say this fic was never meant to be so Laurens-focused but it's .... kind ....of happened?? & now I'm just like... rlly into exploring his character as i see it in this verse??? anyway antony ramos is adorable i think we can all agree


	9. the story of tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings; alcohol, swearing, mentions of kissing, biphobia, mentions of past infidelity.

'I just don't get why you have to be best friends with them,' Justin complains, from the drivers seat. I roll my eyes, looking out the window at the velvety sky, dark purple, strung with stars like fairy lights and wispy clouds.

'Like - until five days ago, you didn't even _like_ each other!'

'Maybe it's time to grow up, and out of stupid rivalries,' I murmur absently. This has been the record playing on repeat from Justin for four days, since my truce with Alexander. School has been more enjoyable since we started to form a tentative bond - debating classes are lighter when there's no bite between the opposing teams.

John is delighted, to say the least, with this latest turn of tables. He's sat by me at lunch, whenever Justin wasn't around. They play on the basketball team together, and it seems they have their own childish, testosterone-fuelled rivalry. Suffice to say, he is not best pleased with my new alliance.

'Hey, can you just be nice for one night?' I ask. 'I'm always nice,' he protests. I cut him a look that could slice through steel. He visibly shivers and then sighs. 'Best behaviour. I promise.'

I smile then, bright and innocent. Alexander has managed to talk Angelica into inviting me and Justin to her Friday gathering. She's still wary of me, Lafayette too. He's always quieter when I'm with them, and it sets me on edge. His words from the party ring in my head, a friendly warning against hurting John. I frown as I think, and Justin notices.

'What's up?'  
'Nothing. Just... college stuff,' I fib, and breathe out a relieved sigh when he buys it.  
'You'll be fine, you'll hear from the scout soon,' he dismisses the fear easily, and I nod and smile again. The rest of the journey is silent, and I pray to whoever may be listening that tonight will go well.

**  
'Hey!'

As soon as the front door swings open, John is pulling me into a tight hug. Justin hangs back, jaw practically on the floor as he takes in the six-story house that is home to the Schuyler sisters.

I look over John's shoulder, into the hall- no-one to be seen, but plenty to be heard. Alexander is loud as ever, even over the music playing from somewhere inside.

'Laurens.'  
'Morgan.'

John and Justin greet each other coolly. A sudden tension creeps up, uncomfortable, I step into the house to escape the awkwardness. The kitchen is the first room I find, large, airy, a gigantic black marble top island stranded in the middle. The wooden floorboards creak as I enter. Angelica looks up, from her place by the sink, counting out glasses for her guests. I don't miss how her calculating eyes narrow when she sees me.

'(Y/N), welcome,' with quick motions she uncaps a bottle of beer, tips half the contents into a shiny pint glass. Hands it to me with a polite smile.  
Suddenly nervous, I take the drink gratefully, sipping at it like a fish. 'Hey, Angelica. Thanks for having me, and Justin.'

'The more, the merrier, right? Everyone else is in the den, back through the hallway and down to the left, right at the end.' I take a moment to size her up when she turns away, a dark purple dress falling to her knees, silver pumps on her feet. The silky material cinches at the waist and puffs out slightly from there. The top is form-fitting, sleeveless, her long, lithe limbs graceful. Like a ballerina.

Before I can be caught creeping, I find John and Justin, who seem to be engaged in some kind of staring contest in the hall.

'Guys?'

They both turn to me at the same time, smiles replacing the sullen expressions they were wearing a second ago. 'Let's go to the others,' John leads us down the hallway. Justin's hand finds mine, grips it tight. 'This place is huge,' he whispers disbelievingly under his breath. I nod my agreement. The den is even bigger than the kitchen, two sofa's angled opposite each other, a flat-screen tv hanging on the wall like a landscape painting. The screen is blank, below it a table holding more alcohol and a selection of sodas.  
There's mini pizzas and burgers and ceramic bowls full to the brim with crisps and sweets and popcorn.

Justin's face brightens as he takes in the food - immediately shoving two pizzas in his mouth. I glare in disgust, and he smiles, open-mouthed with food still in his teeth.

'Well, that's certainly attractive,' comes a light voice from behind me - Eliza. I turn to her, struck dum by how different she looks outside of school. She usually dons blazers and blouses and plain jeans with mary-janes, plain but practical. Now she's in a pale blue frock, much like Angelica's aside from the colour. Her shoes are pointed black heels, a chain of silver around her neck with a fire charm resting in the hollow of her throat.

Maybe I'm under-dressed, I think to myself, panicking. My own denim shorts and plain white vest seem shabby in comparison. Even the Vans on my feet are scuffed, old as the hills. Even Justin cleans up better, a maroon button up with dark jeans, so new he can barely bend his legs at the knee. Eliza strikes up conversation with Justin as if they're old pals, allowing me to slip over to Hamilton and the rest of the boys. Angelica calls for help to bring up more drinks, and everyone except me and Alexander dash off immediately. Which leaves the two of us, standing there, awkward and unsure of what to do or say.

What would probably be a heavily uncomfortable silence is cut short when he speaks up.  
'Why did we never get on, before?'

'Because you talk too loud and shoot off at the mouth.' I think for a moment. 'Admittedly, so do I.'  
He nods, agreeing. 'I never meant to make an enemy out of you.'

'I don't have enemies, Hamilton.' He smiles at his feet - is he blushing?

'I know, I know -'

'Hey, guys. Hope I didn't miss too much?' My heart stops dead when my gaze falls to the figure in the door- the well-dressed, curvy figure, in tight, low slung denim jeans and a plain white crop top. Maria Reynolds looks devastating as ever, a hurricane in a body, waiting to take over. My mouth dries up- since when...

'Maria! Hi! What are you doing here?' Alexander asks, blunt, but voice high and bright. I suddenly remember - oh, god. I'm standing in a room with the girl who cheated on Alexander with me, though technically Alexander was cheating on Eliza first. So it wasn't really Maria cheating on him, but it kind of was because he didn't know, and then got jealous?

Oh, fuck.

'Eliza invited me,' she informs us, dark eyes never leaving my face, an almost-smirk playing on the edge of her lips. The rest of the group crowd in behind her. A sharp voice cutting through.

'Great. Everyone's here.' If Angelica looks at me with caution, she looks at Maria with complete and utter disdain. Eliza, on the other hand, smiles like she's just won the lottery - have I actually entered some kind of alternate universe?

John claps his hands together, announcing that the party starts now. Maria catches my eye once again - and winks. Butterflies burst into a flutter in my stomach again, and I turn away, back to Alexander, focusing on him. Tonight is about making friends, I remind myself firmly. Not retracing old steps.

**  
It's nearing midnight, and most of us are a few drinks deep, when John announces that he wants - of all things - to play Truth or Dare. Angelica and Hercules roll their eyes, but relent after a pleading look from John. That boy could do illegal things with those damn puppy eyes.

An empty bottle of Malibu rum is commandeered for the game, and we settle in an uneven circle. Eliza to my right, Lafayette to my left, Maria directly across from me. John spins first, and it lands on Eliza. He smirks mischievously. 'Truth or dare?'

'Truth,' she chooses, smiling almost serenely as she sips at her rum and coke.  
'How many people in this circle have you kissed?'  
'Three.'

Angelica chokes on her wine - eyes like saucers staring at her sister. Eliza simply shrugs, and says nothing when Alexander demands to know who the other two are. I don't want to say, but I'm kind of intrigued too. I eye the quietest Schuyler curiously - she spins the bottle, and it lands on Angelica.

'Truth or dare?'  
'Dare.'

Alexander and Hercules whistle, chanting, 'Angelica! Angelica!' She basks in the glow of their chant dramatically, while Eliza hushes them so they can think. 'I'm so terrible at this!'

'C'mon, Liza, you'll get something!' Alexander cheers her on, but it doesn't help. An idea sneaks into my mind.  
'How about this?' I whisper quickly into Eliza's ear - when she moves back to look at me, she's grinning ear-to-ear, nose wrinkled in disgust. 'That's gross, but great. Angelica - I dare you to drink wine from Alexander's sock.'

Angelica shakes her head furiously, the others bursting into peals of laughter. Hercules holds up his hand to me for a high-five - something that feels like belonging lights up in my belly, warm and glowing. I can't fight the smile the small gesture brings on. Angelica chooses to forfeit - and again, I come up with the forfeit. Me and Eliza disappear to the kitchen, returning to Angelica with firm instructions to close her eyes.

The forfeit entails the others mixing random things together from what can be scavenged in the kitchen. She or he who forfeits must close their eyes, down the drink, and try to guess what's in it.

Angelica's almost comes straight back up - 'oh, god, oh, god, I'm going to be sick - I don't even want to guess!'

'Pickle juice and mayonnaise,' Eliza giggles, having to hold on to me lest she collapse from giddiness. A few rounds pass, hilarity ensuing. Hercules is dared to snort Dorito powder, which he does - lucky, they're plain, and though it makes his eyes water it doesn't burn the shit out of his nostrils. Lafayette has to take a shot, mixed by me and Alexander (salt, vinegar, raw honey and blue alcopop). Lafayette dares me to kiss someone who isn't my boyfriend. Justin shrugs, says it's just a game - then I'm kissing Maria, shuddering slightly at the taste of coconut on her lips, trying to conceal the way my cheeks flood as I pull away, her lipstick on my mouth,the scent of her sweet perfume lingering. I dare Alexander to take a bodyshot off Hercules. He does it without complaining, strangely, and then Justin chooses truth. 'This is so dumb,' he complains, and I reach to give him a shove. 'Shut up, don't be a spoilsport.'  
  
Lafayette thinks long and hard before coming up with his question, a hard-to answer one, in all honesty. 'Apart from your girlfriend, 'ave you ever 'ad an attraction or fantasy about anyone else in the circle?' His face turns the colour of a plum, spluttering and turning to look at me for support. 'You picked truth,' I point out with a smirk. 'It isn't gonna bother me - we're all grown ups here.'

Lafayette nods and everyone stares expectantly at Justin. His face screws up- his jaw muscle twitches ever so slightly when he's lying. 'No,' the others boo him rowdily, but John is smiling, eyes hooded and almost spiteful as he watches Justin.  
Something sharp twinges in my gut - bringing Justin was a bad idea, I think to myself. The sharp feeling intensifies when Justin's spin lands on John.

John chooses dare - and I don't like the flat look on Justin's face when he does. 'I dare you to kiss the person you're most attracted to in this room.'  
This time, no-one wolf-whistles, no one cheers. It seems as though the tension between John and Justin has become clear to everybody else in the room. A collective breath is being held - then John is leaning forward, and it takes a split second to long to realise he's coming to me. On instinct, my head is tilting closer before I can understand what's happening.

The next few seconds happen in a blur of shapeless colour and noise. John is sprawled on his back, winded, but unhurt. Alexander is launching himself at Justin, the idiot - Justin has almost a foot on him in height, luckily, Hercules draws him back and restrains him quickly. Angelica is on her feet - Maria is sitting back, smiling over her glass. 'I think you should go,' Angelica - I think? - says, and then a vice clamps like an iron fist around my forearm, dragging me up and away.

'I'm sorry, for -' I use my free hand to gesture in Justin's general direction before he's pulled me out completely.

**  
The wheels turn too sharply coming out the drive of the Schuyler's house. A shower of pebbles skid across the road, pelting the sides of the already-battered jeep. Justin's knuckles are white, throttling the life of the leather wheel. He is staring and yelling at me, but the shock of what has just happened means his words are silent to my ears.

'Can you you pay attention to the road, please?'  
'He was going to kissing you!'

'I wouldn't have let him!'  
Justin scowls. 'Yeah, looked that way alright.'  
Frustration grows as I come back to myself, and I bury my face in my hands. 'Is there something going, on between you and Laurens? Is that why you're so friendly all of a sudden? Has he -'

Lifting my head I stare at my raging boyfriend. 'There's nothing- don't be so ridiculous!' He looks at me again, brown eyes flashing with anger. 'Why were you about to kiss him then?'

Groaning, I slump backward in my seat. 'I. Was. Not. Going. To. Kiss. Him.' I repeat through gritted teeth, my eyes falling shut as I attempt to reign in my temper. 'Oh, bullshit!' He spits. 'I was there, I saw it all-!'

'I notice you didn't mind when I was kissing Maria,' I mutter, words laced through with venom.  
'Oh that doesn't count!'  
'What the fuck? Why does it count with John and not with Maria?'  
'Because you're not going to run off and have an affair with Maria!'  
'I'm not going to run off and have an affair with anyone!' I argue, 'Me and Maria were together, remember? You're threatened by a new male friend of mine but not my ex-' I stop. Ex what? Ex-friends with benefits?  
'But not my ex?' I settle on eventually - and Justin laughs. Actually laughs.  
'Oh, that was just a phase. You like guys, (Y/N), I think I'd know.'

Staring out the windshield into the dark, a still, eery calm fills me. 'I like girls, too,' I tell him, quietly. He laughs again.  
'You have to pick one. And you picked me,' he emphasises the last word and his words begin to feel like sandpaper against dry skin.  
'I don't have to pick,' I spit out. 'I'm bisexual-'  
He interrupts, 'That's not real, it's just people who are greedy.'

I turn to look at him, unable to comprehend the level of ignorance that has just been spewed from a mouth I kiss daily. He tears his eyes from the road, still simmering with anger, 'what?'

'Stop the car.'  
'Are you crazy?'  
'Stop the damn fucking car, Justin. I want to get out.  
'And walk in the dark on your own? Yeah, right,' he scoffs, and my fists ball up of their own accord.

Neither of us speak until we're pulling up outside my house. My hands shake as I fumble with the safety belt, taking a few tries to unbuckle it. Justin sighs and rubs his hand over his face, leaning his elbow against the top of the steering wheel. 'Look, can we just talk about this?'

'I think you've said enough.'

He groans, reaching for my arm. I jerk away, practically flattening my body against the door, my fingers curled around the handle. 'Don't. You have said enough.' I repeat through gritted teeth.

Just before I slam the door in his face, he calls out 'Talk to you tomorrow, then?' exasperation clear in his voice. 'Wouldn't fucking count on it,' I mutter, the door banging as it shuts.


	10. tell me something sweet to get me by

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from 'if it means a lot to you' - a day to remember. 
> 
> usual craic - not edited or beta'd.

The first thing to alert me to the fact that something's off is the smell of Chinese takeout permeating the air when I get into the house.

Frowning, I listen out - voices in the sitting room. And ... _giggling_? Oh, my god. Has dad got someone over? He told me he was working tonight. The sitting room door is slightly ajar, the lights off, but the tv light slips through the crack, a muted buzz of on-screen chatter. I push it open, slowly at first. But coming across the scene playing out in the sitting room is like being doused in freezing water, and I shove it open the rest of the way. It slams against the wall with a thunk, painfully loud.

'What the fuck?'

Dad shoots up like he's been shocked, from his position, half-leaning against our show director - Greg. Greg's blonde hair is sticking up in tufts, shirt half buttoned. He stares at me blankly, confusion curling in on the edges of his face. Dad's face is flushed, chest heaving heavily.

'I thought you were staying in Justin's tonight...' Dad mumbles, hurrying to fix his ruffled clothes.

'I thought we didn't keep things from each other.' My voice shatters under the weight of the words.  
Betrayal and hurt spears through my veins, like a poison, searing, burning. My stomach turns; '(Y/N), sweetheart, please...' Dad stands, moves toward me. Stepping back into the hallway, I catch sight of his car keys left on the table. Without pausing to think twice, I snatch them up, backing out and finding the door without looking. Into the night, I fumble blindly with the button to unlock the car door. It beeps, dad's voice in the background, pleading. It's easier to ignore than I would have expected. Jamming the key into the ignition, the engine growls to life, and I'm gone.

**  
My phone rings out for the third time. Frustrated, I take it out of my pocket, one hand on the wheel. I knock the call off and toss it over to the passenger side. When it trills again, I slam on the brakes, jolting forward harshly and hitting my head off the wheel. Dad's face fills the screen, and I can't bear to look. I knock it off, and then scroll through my contacts. I find the number I want, pressing my thumb against it, hitting to speaker. After a few seconds, John Laurens' voice fills the car. The sound of it, raspy with sleep, is like aloe vera on a burn. The elastic band around my chest loosens; I find myself sobbing down the phone to a confused John. He tries to calm me, asks me over. Offers me somewhere to stay for the night.

I shouldn't - after the party - but I need a friend. I need someone, and John is here. I could call Ariana, I could call Dean... but they'd be asleep. John's already awake. So I agree, and drive across town, to John's house. He's waiting at the door, bare-feet, flannel pj bottoms and a green, baggy Hulk top. He's also wearing that smile - the one I saw first only a week ago, the smile that could blind me and I wouldn't care. I fall straight into his chest, his arms around me. For the first time all night, I can breathe, I feel okay.

**

'So your dad is sleeping with Greg?' John's voice is incredulous, and I nod morosely, staring at the ceiling of his room. We lie on the queen-sized bed, a black fluffy blanket covering us, soft and cosy. 'Damn,' he breathes, letting out a low whistle.

'It's not even - I don't care that, that he's seeing a guy, or that he's moving on from - from my mom, but ...' I roll to the side, facing John. I wonder what he sees in my face, if I look as bad as I feel. 'But he didn't tell me. I tell him everything.' The words spur on another bout of tears. I wipe them away, irritated, and John reaches out to take my hand. 'Hey, it's okay,' he whispers, 'it's okay.'

'Just, everything with - with Justin tonight, oh, I'm so sorry about that, by the way.' He smiles to himself and shakes his head, loose curls falling over his face. Almost automatically, my free hand is brushing his cheek, pushing back the sandy hair. His breath hitches, and my own pulse quickens suddenly.

'And now dad? And with the letter from my mom...'  
'Your mom got in contact?'  
'Yeah. She, uh. She wrote a letter. Gave it to Alexander to give it to me.' I shudder as I remember how I'd gone after poor Alex afterwards. The negativity of the past week settles on my chest, an anchor, paired with the tight feeling making it almost impossible to breathe.

'I'm sorry to just come over and dump all my shit on you,' I apologise, and John squeezes my hand. 'Don't be silly. I'm really happy that you could come to me. I was worried I'd ruined things, what with that stupid game...'

I shake my head, throat swelling. 'Let's just... not talk about it tonight. Please?' His eyes search my face intently; he nods. I turn over onto my back. A thought occurs to me. 'Hey, where's your parents?'

John huffs a laugh, too bitter to sound normal from him. 'Work.' That one word is sharp as a blade and his face closes up. 'It's always work.' He breathes out, more to himself than to me. I figure he doesn't want to talk about it, so I don't push. 

I sit up, wiping my face. A guitar on a stand in the corner catches me eye, and I perk up slightly. 'You play?'

He raises a questioning eyebrow, I nod to the instrument. He relaxes and nods, swinging his legs off the bed and crossing the room to pick it up. Long fingers strum against the nylon strings, a pleasant chord in the stillness. 'How long you played?'

Shrugging a shoulder, he sits at the edge of the bed. He holds the instrument almost reverently, a tight grip on the neck as he positions his fingers along the frets. 'Ever since I could walk, practically.'

Pulling my legs to my chest, I rest my chin on my knees, looking up at him through the curtain of hair falling into my eyes. 'Play me something.'

He glances to me, surprised. He nods, clearing his throat and flexing his hands. After a moment of hesitation, he begins to play.

A small smile forms on my lips as I recognise the soft notes. He coaxes the melody out gently, strumming low and quiet. At the chorus he begins to sing, barely above a whisper.

_'if you can wait till i get home, then i swear to you, that we can make this last...'_

He lifts his gaze from the strings when I chime in with the 'la,la,la' part. He smiles encouragingly as it gets to the next verse. Nervous, I start to sing as he continues to play.

_'and hey sweetie, well i need you here tonight, and i know that you don't wanna be leaving me, yeah you want it, but i can't help it, i just feel complete when you're by my side, but i know you can't come home till they're singing-'_

He joins in again and our voices melt together seamlessly, his higher than mine, mine a little rougher, his smoothing out the edges. The song ends, and my cheeks are flaming. As are his, I notice. Struggling to keep my voice nonchalant, I poke him in the shoulder playfully. 'I didn't know you could sing.'  
'Didn't know you could.'

Embarrassed, I hide my face between my knees. 'I can't,' I mumble into the skin. 'Not really.'  
'Little bit of proper training, you could be great,' he praises. 'I'm an actress, not a singer,' I tell him with a smile.

His phone buzzes - checking the time, his eyes widen. 'It's almost four am.'  
'Oh, fuck, I'm sorry for keeping you up - I'll go, you should get some sleep-' In my haste to get off the bed, one foot catches the opposite ankle and I slam to the floor. I just about avoid smashing my face against the carpet, my hands aching as they hold up my weight. John's face hovers into view over the edge of the bed, a shit eating grin on his face.

'Don't say a word.' I warn him, and true enough, he says nothing. But he does burst into laughter, and doesn't stop for about five minutes. Even then, a small chuckle escapes in four second intervals. Doing my best to glare, I fold my arms over, standing up and looking down. He covers his mouth, choking out a muffled 'sorry, that was just- your _**face**_!' before he's lapsing into another fit.

'Asshole,' I mutter; but there's no bite to it. 'I'll let you laugh yourself to sleep. Thank you, for, well, listening.' He holds up a finger - wait.  
'Look, it's nearly four am, you may as well just crash here now.'

Biting my lip, I shift my weight from one foot to the other. 'That's really sweet, John, but...'  
'No buts!' He interrupts loudly, his voice calmed now, serious. 'I have some clothes I can loan you.'

Grateful for the kindness, I ignore the bundle of heat in my belly as I slip into the bathroom to change. I shrug on a shirt two sizes too big for me, and a pair of boxer shorts that refuse to stay up without the help of a bobby pin. For the first time all night I get a proper look - I'm a mess, jesus christ. My eyeliner is smudged, giving me the look of a 90's-grunge band member. My eyes themselves are puffy and swollen, rimmed red, bleary and worn out. I sigh, reaching for a wipe to remove the remnants of streaked foundation - my mascara, luckily, is waterproof, my foundation, not so much. Splashing some water on my face, I fold my clothes and carry them back into John's room. I leave them on his dresser, and he smiles at me from the bed. He shimmies out of his flannel trousers - my breath catches in my throat. He has incredibly lean, muscular legs, and I turn my back automatically so as not to be caught staring.

'Um...' John sounds nervous. 'The spare room is down the hall, but you can sleep in here if you want? I mean-' he rushes to continue, flustered. 'I mean I'd, I can sleep in the spare room, not that - not that we can sleep together. I mean, like, actually sleep, not-'

Stuttering John is even more adorable than usual; he cuts himself off, rubbing his arm. 'Thanks, John. I'll head to the spare room. Could I maybe borrow your phone charger?' He nods enthusiastically, but as I pass it over and he reaches down to grab the lead, I notice how he fights back a yawn. More guilt.

'Get some rest,' I tell him softly, letting my hand linger on his hand a few moments too long. 'You too. If you need anything, well. You know where I am.'  
  
'Thank you.' I head for the hallway, clicking off the light. I hear the sheets being moved back, the springs in the mattress squeaking as he lies down. 'Goodnight, John.' I whisper to the darkness.  
'Goodnight, (Y/N).'


End file.
